There is something she wanted to tell him. Something, no matter how many times she confessed it to him, it was never enough. She always felt that she hadn’t probably said it at the right time or the right place. The moment was either too soon or a little too late. Why couldn’t it be like in the movies or in the great love stories in the books where each moment was crafted frame by frame perfectly? Why were the gods such lousy script writers? Why couldn’t they ape the works of their own creation? But then, when she thought about it, she realised that may be it is the lack of a perfect moment that kept her wanting to say it to him so often and wanting to mean it every time she said those two words – “Thank you”.